


Just Breathe

by Kittycrackers (Calacious)



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dominance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Kittycrackers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is afraid of losing Jesse; Jesse shows Michael that he's more than capable of handling himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [csi_sanders1129](https://archiveofourown.org/users/csi_sanders1129/gifts).



Michael centers the barrel of the gun at the left eye of the man who’s got Jesse in a headlock. He knows that, when the time comes for him to pull the trigger, he won’t miss. That isn’t what worries him. What worries him is the desperate look in Jesse’s eyes, the way that his fingernails are scrabbling at his captor’s arm, leaving red marks in their wake, and the way that Jesse’s breath is coming out in gasping wheezes – his lips turning blue.

“Let him go,” Michael says, marveling at how calm he sounds when his heart is beating like mad, and he feels like he’s going to be sick.

The man holding Jesse, Markham, returns Michael’s steady glare with one of his own and his lips curl up into an ugly sneer. He’s not even the man that they were after, but some low-level hood who thought he could horn his way into a case that Michael and Jesse have been working on for the past couple of weeks. 

“You aren’t going to shoot me,” Markham says with a confidence that Michael finds unsettling as Jesse’s eyes start to bug. “You won’t risk hurting your little boyfriend here.”

“Ain’t going to happen,” Michael promises, and he shares a look with Jesse.

“You shoot me, you shoot him,” Markham says, though he doesn’t sound nearly as confident as he had a moment ago, and his grip on Jesse loosens just enough so that Jesse can now take a mouthful of air into his lungs.

“Tell you what,” Michael says coolly, “you let him go, and I won’t shoot you.”

Markham presses the blade of the knife he’d used to subdue Jesse with in the first place to Jesse’s neck, drawing blood. It takes all of Michael’s self-control to not shoot the thug right then and there, but all of his training tells him that he should at least give the idiot a chance to comply before shooting his head off.

“Michael.” Jesse’s voice is wrecked, and his tone begging and Michael doesn’t think. 

He pulls the trigger, watches with an icy detachment as the bullet leaves the barrel of his gun and slams into Markham’s eye before bursting out of the back of his skull. Blood splatters across Jesse’s face and the street behind them.

Jesse sags to the pavement as Markham loses his grip on him and slides sideways to the ground, knife clattering uselessly to the street. Michael rushes to Jesse, catching him before he nosedives. Pulling him close, he cradles Jesse to his chest, and relishes the sound of the spy’s now unhampered breathing. 

“You’re safe, I’ve got you now,” Michael assures him, pressing soft, yet urgent kisses to Jesse’s blood-spattered face. 

“Knew you wouldn’t fail me,” Jesse manages just as his eyes roll to the back of his head and he passes out. 

Michael frowns, and then sighs in relief when Sam appears out of nowhere and helps him cart Jesse to a waiting car.

He hovers and paces when they get back to studio while Fiona patches Jesse up as best she can. There’s a dark bruise blossoming across Jesse’s neck, and Michael worries that he might’ve suffered some permanent damage at the hands of his assailant. The very thought of it almost has him marching across town to shoot Markham in his other eye, but he knows that Sam has already relocated the man’s body and done his best to cover up his death. Chances are that no one will miss the dirt bag, but, still, Michael’s never been more grateful to his friends than he is right now.

“He’ll be fine, Michael,” Fiona says, patting him on the arm as he makes another pass by the bed where Jesse is now sleeping, a peaceful look on his face. Michael can’t help seeing his face twisted in agony as it had been a mere hour ago, and he has to turn away. 

“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place,” Michael says in a clipped tone. 

Fiona raises an eyebrow in response and shakes her head. “We all take risks in this line of business, just because you and Jesse are now bumping uglies, doesn’t make him immune to this kind of thing. You’ve got to learn to get a grip, Michael, or it’s never going to work between the two of you. Either you, or he, will become resentful, and one thing will lead to another and…” she brought her hands together and mimicked an explosion. 

“Thanks, Fi,” Michael says, fixing her with a pointed glare, “just the image I needed.”

“Oh c’mon, Michael,” Fiona throws her hands in the air, “he’s going to be just fine. Or, are you doubting my nursing skills?” She approaches him like a lioness protecting a cub, and Michael instinctively backs away.

“Michael?” Jesse’s voice sounds like he’s been gargling gravel, and his hands are gripping Michael’s cotton sheets, bunching them. Michael rushes to Jesse’s side, kneeling and reaching for Jesse’s hands, grasping them in his own. 

“Right here, buddy,” Michael says, kissing Jesse’s crinkled brow.

“Stop giving Fi such a hard time,” Jesse whispers.

Fiona snorts, and Michael hears the door open, but his eyes are focused on Jesse’s face, taking note of the pain that registers in the other man’s eyes, and in the tight lines around Jesse’s mouth. 

“Guess I’ll go check on Sam,” Fiona says, and then Michael hears the door click shut behind the woman he’d, at one point in time, been in love with. 

“Stop,” Jesse says, and then he tugs his hands from Michael’s, who frowns. “And, you know, Fi’s right. You can’t protect me all the damn time. I’m not some fairytale princess.” He pushes up on his elbows, groaning, but quells Michael with a look when the spy attempts to help him sit up. 

“I’m fine,” Jesse says when Michael’s eyes stray to the dark bruise around his neck.

“How come you sound like you’ve swallowed a glass full of rocks then?” Michael counters.

Jesse shakes his head, and reaches over, pulling a startled Michael into a breath-stealing kiss. Michael loses himself in the kiss. The feel of Jesse’s dry lips, like sandpaper; his tongue, undulating like a snake charmer inside of Michael’s mouth, taming and subduing his own tongue; and the tug of teeth on his lips. And then there’s the taste of Jesse – a mixture strawberry yogurt that he’d nicked from Michael’s fridge earlier that day, and peppermint. It’s more than a little overwhelming, and his limbs move of their own accord, arranging themselves so that he’s on the bed, straddling Jesse’s hips, rubbing against the other man. 

“Shirt, off,” Jesse orders, and Michael complies without thinking.

He’s gotten used to being ordered around by Jesse, in and outside of the bedroom. He doesn’t wait for Jesse to tell him to lose his jeans, his cock springing free of the confining fabric the second he shucks them off. Jesse’s lopsided grin, as the man drinks him in, is almost Michael’s undoing, and he moans in anticipation of whatever it is that Jesse’s got in store for him.

“Move a little?” Jesse’s voice is soft, begging, much as it had been before, when Markham had him in a headlock. Michael’s heart feels like it’s being cinched in a tight fist and he moves so that Jesse can get free of the sheets. 

“That’s good,” Jesse says when Michael shifts backward, using his elbows to crawl his way toward the middle of the bed. 

On his knees, Jesse follows Michael’s movements, tugging his boxers off, and tossing them in the general direction of the floor. His eyes are zeroed in on Michael’s erection, and Michael’s legs, bent at the knees, fall to the side. He swallows, and shivers when Jesse brushes over the head of his dick with the calloused pad of his thumb. 

“Wait.” Michael tries to think straight, even as he lays back and arches his hips up off the bed when Jesse nudges a blunt finger between the cheeks of his ass. “Are you sure we should be doing this?” His hand flails between them, even as his head lolls to the side when Jesse’s lips close around the tip of his cock, and he starts to suck. 

Michael’s flailing hand falls to his side, and he digs his fingers into the sheets. He doesn’t know how long he will last, not with how highly strung he’d been since Markham had attacked Jesse, but he knows that he doesn’t want to come until Jesse’s buried balls deep inside of him.

“No, no prep,” he gasps, bringing a fist to his mouth and biting down on it when Jesse raises his head, pre-cum dripping from his smiling lips. 

“Don’t think I can last,” Michael moans when Jesse grasps Michael’s leaking dick and gives it a slight pull. He smiles devilishly at Michael as he coats his fingers with the viscous liquid being excreted from the tip of Michael’s erection.

“Want, want you, want, you,” Michael starts to slur incoherently when Jesse ignores him and pushes a cum lubricated finger into him, and then a second and a third.

“Michael?” Jesse’s voice is little louder than a whisper, but there’s something in the tone of it which breaks through Michael’s debauched state of mind, causing him to meet the younger man’s eyes. “Ready?”

Michael nods, and hisses when Jesse’s hand closes around his dick, even as he removes his fingers from Michael’s ass and lines up to take him in one, hard thrust. Michael’s back arches up off the bed, and he wraps his legs around Jesse’s back, wanting, needing the mounting pressure of Jesse’s cock inside of him, rearranging the muscles of his tight wall as they struggle to adjust to Jesse’s thickness.

Jesse’s head is bobbing between Michael’s legs, and his fingers are doing miraculous things to Michael’s cock, and the head of Jesse’s dick is pressing up against that bundle of nerves that makes the world stop spinning for what feels like several minutes that translate to years. He hears the rush of the ocean in his ears, and feels his balls tighten. He’s lightheaded, and grappling with the sheets, hoping that they can keep him grounded, because it feels like he’s about to float off into outer space.

The bruises on Jesse’s throat are a livid reminder of what happened earlier, and the thought of the bruise almost causes Michael to flag, but the way Jesse’s palm slides up and down his shaft makes that impossible. He couldn’t stop this now if he wanted to, and there’s a small part of him that understands that this is what Jesse was after – the younger spy’s way of proving to Michael that he was okay after what had happened that afternoon. 

Jesse’s fingers work their magic on his dick, and Michael wonders how the man can jerk him off while he simultaneously fucks him into oblivion. The sound of the ocean roaring in his ears is drowned out by that of panting and moaning, the slapping of flesh against flesh as Jesse pounds into his ass. 

He feels the familiar tightening in his balls that signals release, and, knows, by the way that Jesse’s thrusts increase, that his partner is about to come as well. Michael cries out first, jerking his hips upward, and the walls of his anus constrict around Jesse’s cock.

A raw, guttural sound is torn from Jesse’s bruised throat as he rides out his orgasm inside of Michael, pressing the side of his face against the inside of Michael’s thigh. When Jesse pulls out, Michael’s ass is sore, but in a good way. They both collapse, Jesse on top of Michael. Sticky with sweat and the fluids that accompany sexual intercourse, they lay like that for a while, simply breathing.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Jesse shifts a little, drawing Michael back toward the head of the bed. Drowsy, they manage to wrangle their way beneath the wrinkled sheets, and then, limbs entwined; they fall asleep, Michael clutching Jesse close to him as though to protect the younger man even in their sleep.


End file.
